


Through the flames

by ferowyn



Series: Hobbit Kink [9]
Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur gets hurt in goblin town</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the flames

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2448059#t2448059
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes, English is not my mother tongue.  
> Okay, I don't really like that one, but I'll post it anyway.

# Through the Flames

“Well, that could have been worse,” Bofur mutters, as always trying to see the upside of every situation. He is an incurable optimist, but what is the point in life if you do not enjoy it? He is known for his positive attitude no matter what the circumstances and more than once has he been found guilty of provoking a sudden worsening of the situation. This time is not much different. Only seconds after he has said those cursed words (Dwalin has threatened to kill him should he utter them ever again for quite a few times) a searing pain shoots through his back and legs and he feels something – most likely splinters of wood, considering the fact that they are still trapped in goblin town – dig their way into his skin when the goblin king falls onto them. He hears Dwalin swear loudly. Before he can even start to think about the pain or say something to the warrior, however, he can hear Kili cry Gandalf’s name. He follows the gaze of the young dwarf and is shocked to see what seems to be all the remaining goblins coming towards them. No, they cannot fight so many.

“There is only one thing that can save us now: Daylight,” Gandalf says, and then: “Hurry!” Bofur struggles to free himself from the collapsed wood construction, every movement of his legs shooting knives up and down his spine. Balin helps him and he has no time to look for Bilbo (he had lost sight of him when they had been captured and had had no time to look for the hobbit during their escape, believing he was at the back of the group), he can only follow the others. And no matter how much it hurts, no matter how hard it is to suppress a hiss or even a cry after every step, his survival instincts have taken control and then is running for dear life, every step burning like the fire he dreads and hates so much, and his spine threatening to burst, but he can still hear the goblins and that is incentive enough. Adrenaline was a very helpful invention on the part of nature.

Finally Gandalf stops, deeming the distance to the exit safe enough, and starts to count them. Bofur barely manages to stay awake, much less keep standing, but he cannot help to think the wizard should have done that much earlier – in that tunnel that led out of the mountain, for example, when he had let each and every one of them pass him. However, he is much too exhausted to dwell on the matter. Gasping for breath and trying to ignore the sharp pain in his back (something that turns out to be more and more difficult with every second, now that his body thinks he is out of immediate danger) he leans against a tree in a desperate attempt to release the pressure of his weight, setting his nerves on fire. Looking around, his eyes searching for the one person he wants to be fine more than everyone else (which means a lot, for Bofur is a gentle soul and there are very few people whom he could never grow to like), he realizes that Bilbo is missing and his adrenaline-level shoots up once more. He is just about to open his mouth and say something, worry making it hard to breathe, when Gandalf asks the exact question that is bothering him. “Where is Bilbo?”

Nobody knows the answer and Bofur’s heart sinks to his boots. Every heartbeat seems to make the pain increase and he knows, probably he should be freaking out – considering the fact that he is no longer able to move his feet – but Bilbo’s absence has him feel far more troubled. Has their burglar left after all? It is the best he can hope, for he knows Bilbo had fallen into the caves, sliding down the tunnels next to him, and had also been captured by the goblins. He remembers, because then his eyes had constantly been fixed on the hobbit, desperate to make sure he was okay. Only later, between the sheer never ending number of bodies, had he lost sight of him. Since Bilbo had, quite obviously, not been at the back of their group during their flight, he could only have been captured, killed or managed to escape. If escaping meant Bilbo had returned to Rivendell, as he had planned to, Bofur would be perfectly happy. After all, the other two options were much less desirable.

He gulps heavily. If it had not been for the tree he is clinging to, he would already be lying on the floor. His vision starts to blur and black spots are dancing at the edge of it, threatening to pull him into the darkness. He pushes them back with all the strength he has left. Bofur cannot let go, not now, not as long as he does not know whether Bilbo is safe. He barely hears Thorin’s angry words, focusing completely on _He could never have made it past the goblins_ and _What if he’s dead?_ and _Aulë, please let him be alive!_ and _I need him_. Losing the hobbit is not an option. Not when he is so weak and Bilbo is the one who can give him strength.

He is on the verge of tears (which is very undwarvish, but he cannot care about that right now, he is way too exhausted and way too worried) when he realizes that nobody has seen the hobbit since they had landed in goblin town. He feels like he is choking, fear and pain running through his veins, freezing cold and searing heat, inciting instead of extinguishing each other. He does not know for how much longer he will be able to stay awake, but the adrenaline is still there, fuelled by his feelings for their thief.

Then suddenly Bilbo is standing in front of them, appearing out of nowhere and proofing Thorin wrong. Bofur is flooded by relief when he sees him, seemingly uninjured, and he can feel that tiny rest of energy leaving his body as if someone has pulled the plug. He stumbles as the world starts to spin and the last thing he sees is the shock in Bilbo’s eyes. Then everything goes dark.

 

He feels weak, so terribly weak, and his body seems to have been cut into pieces and put back together in the wrong way. There are hazy images printed to the insides of his closed eyelids, blurred memories of falling trees and wargs and Azog and _fire_. It must have been a nightmare, he is sure, for Azog is dead and the whole situation is way too surreal to be true. Bofur manages to banish all the images from his mind, except for the flames shooting up the trees and the burning undergrowth. The dream must have been very clear, for he can still smell the smoke and the stench of scorched hair. It is a smell that has hunted him since the dragon had attacked Erebor, a smell that makes his blood run cold, a smell that always awakes cruel memories.

Bofur hates fire, for it had not only taken his home, but also consumed his family. For him the spitting of flames will always carry the voices of the dying dwarves along. It has been a long time since he has felt even remotely calm in the presence of flames of any kind. There is a reason why he refuses to get anywhere near a forge and why he never lights the campfire.

He sees the image of the flames grow before him, shooting up against the sky and threatening to devour him and he feels the heat rise, boiling his blood. Unable to move he knows there will be no escape. Just like there had been no escape for his parents.

 

When he wakes up the next time Bofur still feels the searing pain run through his veins, but his strength is no longer something he can only dream of. The flames have returned to the back of his mind, where they always burn – small, but too hot for him ever to forget their presence – and he distantly remembers gruesome nightmares including Erebor, his parents, Bombur and a lot of fire. He shudders, desperate not to lose himself in the ghosts of his past once again. A sharp pain at his back quickly drags him back into reality. Okay, he concludes, no movements at all.

He tries to think of what has happened and immediately sees the shock on Bilbo’s face when the world had started to spin.

Knowing that the hobbit is safe he finally finds the time to worry about his injuries, and he does so by panicking. He may find the upside of every situation, but the thought of maybe never being able to walk again (he remembers the pain in his spine only too well) presents no positive aspects he can cling to. His breath quickens and he knows, moving will hurt, but he cannot suppress the shaking that comes with the panic. The pain increases and he feels a cry work its way around the tightness in his throat, when suddenly soft fingers are wrapped around his hand.

“Shh. Look at me,” somebody whispers and Bofur’s eyes fly open. Then he sees shadows that can only be cast by flames dance over Bilbo’s features and he freaks out. Probably his cries are a alerting everyone to their presence and the squirming sets his nerves on fire once more, but he cannot care right now. Flames are separating him from the world, they are in front of his eyes and around his mind and in his veins and on his hands and there is no way out of this nightmare, until he feels the soft touch of arms around his chest. First he thinks they are flames, licking against his body, but when the grip tightens he suddenly knows it is Bilbo. He concentrates on the pressure, trying to keep the fire at distance and find his way back.

When he finally manages to look at the hobbit, without any flames between them, he is exhausted. Bilbo looks terrified. He is holding him close, his fingers trembling when he pushes a strand of hair out of his face. “Are… are you okay?” he whispers, worry clearly audible in his voice.

Bofur smiles weakly. “I am now,” he murmurs hoarsely (something he would never have said had his mind been clear) and before long he is falling asleep once again, feeling unexpectedly safe in the arms of the hobbit. Bilbo may not be a warrior, but he sure as hell is utterly talented in fighting off bad dreams.

 

It is dark when Bofur opens his eyes. Bilbo’s arms are still wrapped around his body and the searing pain has subsided to a dull ache. Balin, who seems to be on watch, sees that he is awake and kneels down next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better?” he whispers, his voice still hoarse.

Balin sighs with relief and smiles. “You gave us quite a scare,” he murmurs and opens his flask. “Drink. You must be dying of thirst.” Gratefully Bofur accepts the water (obviously he can move his hands without causing him any pain), although drinking is not that easy when lying on one’s back and not wanting to wake a certain hobbit.

“What happened?”

“You had more luck than judgement. Some of the wooden splinters went into your back, but wondrously they did not cause any great damage and Oin managed to get them all out. You will be in rather much pain in the beginning, but you should be able to walk.”

Bofur feels the relief flood his veins, washing away the fire and the ice that had still lingered there. “I… had a dream. About Azog?”

Balin drops his shoulders. “It was no dream. When you had lost consciousness Dwalin carried you. Wargs were attacking and we climbed a few trees and set the undergrowth on fire. In the end we would have all died had the eagles not come and saved us and Azog would have gotten Thorin and Bilbo.”

“ _Bilbo_?” The worry is back.

“He protected Thorin and saved his life, but I am sure he can tell you this story in much more detail. Hardly ever left his side since you had that feverish dream. Ah, and he braided your hair after it got unravelled during your… nightmare.” Bofur can dully remember a strand of hair being pushed out of his face. “It is rather obvious that he lacks in practice, but I would suggest you don’t tell him that.” Balin winks and leaves, seeing the movements of the hobbit who seems to be waking up.

Bilbo opens his eyes, stares right into Bofur’s and starts back, before looking ridiculously relieved. “You are awake!”

“Aye,” Bofur smiles, not able to take his eyes off of the one person who had saved him from the flames.

“How are you?”

“Better,” he repeats and raises a hand, cups the hobbit’s cheek. He is still very tired, which is probably the reason why he dares to do so – along with Balin’s words. Bilbo’s eyes widen and the light blush colouring his face is simply adorable. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For savin’ me from the flames. Without ye I wouldn’t have found me way back,” he answers honestly.

For a second Bilbo seems to be truly shocked (would not have found his way back??) but then he smiles affectionately. “Let me be your fire warden,” he murmurs and Bofur’s heart skips a beat.

“For ye I’d even go through the fire,” he promises before he captures the hobbit’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Bilbo’s body pressed against his own, both of them trying to be as close as possible, makes him realize that fire does not necessarily need to be something bad. Not with Bilbo at his side.


End file.
